The Tiny Four-Legged Thing - Poem by Jessica Fellows
Everything is silent
Pins are heard
Slapping the cement floor
Leveling out a sense of nerves
Little ones await Papa to find it
Where is that terd?
Did it run under the door?
In little lines and curves
The terrible scoundrel!
Now there is no feast
The appetites are now down hill
If it returns, they will stone it
Until the rat is found, there will be no restin’!
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